Banter
by Riverflame
Summary: SLASH. ZackxFreddy. Zack and Freddy are practicing one afternoon, in Freddy's room.


Title:  Banter

Rating:  PG-13 for language and slash.  This means boy/boy love; in this case, boy/boy kissing.  You have been warned, so please, no flames.

Summary:  Zack/Freddy.  The boys are practicing one afternoon, in Freddy's room.  I'm bad at summaries.

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"You can't sing, you bastard, and you know it."

"Well you couldn't play guitar to save your life."

"Doesn't matter.  I've got rhythm –" a roll on the drums, "I got music, and I got you –" a nod in Zack's direction.  "Who could ask for anything more?"  Freddy shrugged and raised his eyebrows.  He managed to look sarcastic and innocent at the same time – _not to mention indecently appealing_, a little voice whispered in Zack's ear, and he tried to ignore it – and this was all just too much for Zack.  Freddy was always too much.

The usually quiet boy blushed and, to cover up for his momentary lapse in thought, retorted, "You're in a kick-ass rock band, _punk_."  He stressed the epithet, pointedly looking at Freddy's clothing.  Was black leather all he had, besides the school uniform?  And he'd gotten a Mohawk.  Nothing that couldn't be combed down and fixed for school, but it was the principle of the thing.  Punks got Mohawks.  Maybe wannabe punks got Mohawks too, but Zack was pretty sure Freddy was punk before he even knew what it was.

"You can't go around quoting songs like that, it'll ruin your reputation as a respectable rocker.  Don't you have any pride?"  It was all banter, of course.  All in fun.  They were friends, band-mates.  Band-mates sleep with groupies and look at fans.  Not each other.

"Nope.  I'm a punk, remember?  We don't do what's expected; we do whatever we want.  Stickin' it to the _Man_!"  He banged on his drums again for emphasis.  "Besides," Freddy said, standing now, "you're one to talk.  Don't go calling me 'punk' like that when you're starting to look like one yourself."  His eyes traveled over Zack, head to toe; he could feel them burning into him.  Zack fought to keep from blushing.  Freddy was right, he had to admit.  You don't spend days and nights with your best friend and pick up some of his habits.  For some reason, though, in Zack's case it was especially noticeable.  Maybe it was the relaxing, freeing effect the rebellious Freddy had on him.  Combine that with Repressed Guitarist Zack, and it came bursting out of him, like he'd had it all along.  Freddy just happened to be the thing to release it.

"It's completely your fault.  My dad blames your bad influence on everything these days."

"And he's right."  Freddy looked smug as he said it.  "I take full credit for you, Zack my man.  Without me, you'd still be a mousy lead guitarist."  They knew it was absolute bull, but the games they played were fun anyway.

"Without you, I'd be better off," Zack jabbed.

"Ah, bullshit.  You don't mean any of it," Freddy said casually.  He was always so sure of himself.  Egomaniac.

"Like hell I don't."  And it had stopped being a game, this was real now.

"No.  You don't mean that."  Freddy leaned over his drum set, right in Zack's face, dead serious.  Zack felt the tension seize up; he was awkward and uncomfortably warm.  The whole room felt like that, and stifled him, suspending movement, thought. 

"Aw, man," he said weakly, and it fell flat in the silence.  His gaze dropped.  "You know I was just… you know, me, I was just, just –"

Freddy suddenly spanned the inches between their faces, smashing their lips together.  Their teeth banged against each other, and Zack could taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth.  He couldn't tell whose blood it was; he wondered if their blood would taste the same.  Wouldn't it?  How could it?

Freddy eased up, but only a little, and Zack had stepped closer without realizing it, leaning into the kiss.  His free hand went to press the back of Freddy's head, pushing them closer, keeping the pressure between their lips.  It was rough and grating, mocking and longing, bittersweet, rebellious, everything about Freddy Zack found absolutely fascinating.  Zack hardly realized it was a kiss, because kisses were supposed to be sweet and gentle – and between a guy and a girl, right? said another voice.

Never mind, Zack thought fervently, it doesn't matter.  Ziggy Stardust and Boy George didn't care.  Why should he?  Why should they?

Freddy pulls back, eyes wide with – fear?  Freddy, afraid? – and lower lip split, and Zack could see the want in his face that should have been so very obvious.

"You're not getting away _that_ easy," he muttered, and grabbed the blonde drummer to crush their lips together again, heart hammering and brain in a daze.

A door slammed somewhere; they jumped apart.  Slowly, Freddy grinned and licked his bleeding lip.  "What did I say?  Bad influence."

"It's all your fault," Zack said, but Freddy could see he was joking again.


End file.
